Inertia
by lajulie
Summary: Han is trapped in carbonite, somewhere in the galaxy. Back with the Alliance, Leia is feeling in limbo as well. Wedge and the Rogues step up to help her out. Mild angst, but with hope and friendship. Set between ESB and ROTJ. Originally posted on Tumblr for Scoundress Saturdays.


_Han is trapped in carbonite, somewhere in the galaxy. Back with the Alliance, Leia is feeling in limbo as well. Wedge and the Rogues step up to help her out. Mild angst, but with hope and friendship. Originally posted on Tumblr for Scoundress Saturdays._

* * *

 **Inertia**

"Damn it all, I'm sweating like a sow in heat. What is it with High Command and rainforests?"

Hobbie's declaration from the slip beside hers jolted Leia from her stupor. She'd been staring at the same bolt for several minutes, spanner poised to tighten it, and her arm was beginning to ache.

As she finally tightened the bolt and released her arm, she could hear Janson respond. "Least it's warm here. You wanna go back to _Hoth_?"

The name was like a punch to the gut, and Leia couldn't help the thought that immediately rose up in her mind: _Yes. I want to go back._

But she didn't, really. What she wanted was no longer on Hoth, or Bespin, or Yavin, or any of their other makeshift bases or mission locations. What she wanted wasn't in the past, in squabbles in the frozen hallway or late-night deliveries of kaffe to her desk in the command center, in illicit speeder races, partnering on missions, banter that inspired a million knowing looks and a booming business in side bets.

She just wanted him, here, _now_. Safe. And he wasn't.

She looked back at the checklist on her datapad, relieved to be nearly done. Working with the Rogues on X-Wing maintenance was supposed to have been a nice distraction, one she'd welcomed when it came up. But every spanner took her back to the _Falcon_ 's maintenance bay, Han passing her tools, leaning over between tasks to kiss her. "Get back to work, flyboy," she'd teased, but she'd laughed and kissed him anyway.

She wiped a bit of sweat off her brow. Arbra was a temperate planet, but Hobbie was right—the Alliance did tend to have a thing for rainforests, and it had been a particularly warm week on base. She'd even stripped down to her tank top, shucking her uniform shirt in the heat of the day. She'd never have so casually done that, before. Now—

But that was the thing, wasn't it? Before, and now?

With Alderaan, there was Leia _before_ and Leia _after_. Much as she might want to, there was no going back. She couldn't be Leia _before_ again, ever.

This was similar, but different. She couldn't go back, wouldn't want to go back to denying her feelings, putting up those walls, trying desperately to protect herself, and him, and the Rebellion, and in fact protecting exactly _nobody_ in the end. But she couldn't go forward, either, not in this strange suspended state. Han was somewhere, but no one knew where; alive (she knew, felt in her bones), but hanging somewhere between life and death.

She couldn't even run to the refuge of his beloved ship for comfort, drink his whiskey and sleep in his bunk and pretend he would come around the corner at any moment. The _Falcon_ had been out of communication for more than two months, and with each successive week of silence the scale seemed to slip closer to the "lost, forever" side. The Alderaan side.

Leia checked off the last item and began to put the spanners away. She wasn't even sure what to think about, how to fill her time and her mind these days. Some days, her mind spent its time picturing scenes from their trip to Bespin, remembering the sound of Han's laugh, the touch of his skin, the rhythm of his breathing. On others, she braved medical journal accounts of the effects of carbon freezing, tried to log symptoms and treatments and ignore the death rates of the patients sampled. Sometimes she tried to go back to her habits from before, setting task lists, metrics, and weekly goals that she could follow, a road map, a clear path to support the Rebellion and hopefully contribute to the defeat of the Empire.

She was just…tired. She sat down on the bottom rung of the ladder to rest, just for a moment, leaning her head on a hand. She heard a distant sound, repeating itself: "Commander. Commander."

"Leia. _Lei_." A hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up. Wedge was standing there, smiling gently. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"I'm not gonna ask if you're okay," he assured her.

She smiled. She hated that kind of empty concern, syrupy and full of nothing, and it was nice when she was spared it. Of course, the implication here was also that Leia was obviously _not_ okay. But she could live with that. "Thanks," she said.

"We're getting a game together, after dinner. You in?" he asked.

"I don't know…." Leia demurred, but she couldn't think of any specific excuse why not. She just genuinely did not know.

Wedge nodded knowingly. "Yeah, thought you might say that. Now, I'd never want to pressure you, but—" he leaned in toward her conspiratorially, whispering now— "I hear Janson is terrified to play sabacc with you. I might have money riding on whether he can make it through four hands with you or not."

Leia laughed, in spite of herself. "So you're inviting me for completely altruistic reasons?"

He grinned. "Completely."

"Okay. But if you win, I get a cut of the proceeds," she said.

"Of course."

* * *

The Rogues managed to sweep Leia off with them to the mess, but oddly scattered for a bit before the sabacc game, so she took the opportunity to go back to her quarters and do her usual checks for any messages from Chewie or Luke. Finding none, she dragged herself to the hangar, promising herself that she could bow out early.

The Rogues were already assembled, and looking at her expectantly.

Was she late? This looked like a meeting, not a card game.

Tycho grinned at her. "So I guess you're wondering why we're just sitting here."

Leia looked at them curiously. "Yes…."

"You've got a choice," Tycho said. "We can play cards first, or—"

"You can benefit from the wisdom of our expertise," Janson finished.

Leia gave them all a quizzical look.

"Rumor has it," Wedge said gently, "that High Command won't sanction a rescue. Which makes it kind of tough to plan one."

That was true. She'd been incredibly angry when that decision had come down.

"You could do it yourself, we know," Tycho said, "but you need someone to bounce ideas off of. Think through it. Get it out of your head."

"Move forward," Wedge agreed.

Leia wanted to cry, but she didn't want to cry in front of the Rogues. Luke had promised to help with strategy, but he kept gallivanting off looking for leads on Jedi this or meditation that. Chewie and Lando were still on the search. General Rieekan couldn't officially help due to his position, though she suspected he would still assist if she asked.

She hadn't known how much she'd needed this. A plan, or a way to make one.

She smiled. "Plan first," she said. "Then, Wes," she said, looking at Janson, "your ass is grass."

Wes looked startled.

Wedge laughed, and handed Leia an ale.


End file.
